Top Posts Tagged with #aftermoontea

OBJECTION, YOUR HONOR!

─── a. keonho

❝ I don't play the odds, I play the man. ❞

─── . pairing lawyer!keonho x paralegal!reader

synopsis ahn keonho is a prodigy associate at the firm Park, Lee & Jeong. When's he's assigned a daunting malpractice case that could make or break the firm's reputation, he's told you work with you; the paralegal who seems to have made him out to be enemy number one. genre law au, fluff, sprinkle of angst, crack contains descriptions of medical procedure gone wrong(mentions of blood, passing out, dying), kissing, swearing

wc. 11.4k !

anya's note lowkenuinely actually finished ts, based off of the show suits, I know lit nothing abt law don't come after me 😭

“THERE ARE TWO TYPES OF LAWYERS IN THIS WORLD. DO YOU KNOW WHAT THEY ARE?”

Currently, Keonho doesn't know what to think, because Jay is staring daggers into his soul.

“Uh…good ones and great ones?”

“Nope,” Jay makes a noise indicating Keonho's totally off the mark. “There are either winners or losers. No in between. If you're in between, you're a loser.”

It's a known fact that Jay, co-partner of the firm Park, Lee, & Jeong, takes one associate out to lunch every week. He's the manager of the firm's associates—a role he takes very seriously.

Keonho dips his head down and takes another bite of a potato.

He's a rookie, a first-year. Keonho joined the firm around April-ish, as an early acceptance to the firm's available associate position. After all, he had a fancy honors degree, stellar grades, a 175 on the LSATS, sparkling letters of recommendation, and practically checked all the boxes for what any firm was looking for.

“How's your time been at the firm so far?” Jay asks. His suit has a clean cut, lapels ironed out just right, his tie perfectly centered atop his dress shirt. “I understand you were hired as an associate just a couple months ago.”

“Yes sir, I, uh—”

“No need to call me sir, Keonho. Call me Jay.”

“Sorry, sir,” Keonho internally winces. This is probably the last guy he wants to make a bad impression on.

“So tell me,” Jay cuts a piece of meat in half with his knife and fork, reiterating his previous question. “How's the firm been treating you?”

“It's been great here, honestly.”

Jay smiles. “I'm glad to hear that. Some of our associates find it hard to adjust, at least the first couple weeks.”

“Well the people here are super great,” Keonho confides. “Everyone's really nice.”

Which is true. He isn't just buttering up his experience because he's in front of one of the three managing partners, he really believes everyone is kind there.

“That’s good to know, Keonho,” Jay remarks. “What cases have you worked on so far?”

Next to none. Keonho has been assigned complete busy work—filing this and that, updating client contact lists, organizing files straight from the copy room. The only case he's actually directly helped is a pro bono for some charity fund embezzlement issue—and that ended up going to trial.

“Well, to be honest, not too many. But I'm fine with doing the busy work others don't want to do.” He lies through his teeth at that last part.

“That's a good attitude, young man. You'll get a breakthrough case soon enough.”

Keonho knows better than to put his hopes into Jay’s statement. It's like Santa promising he'll give a gift, but Christmas has already passed.

So he just laughs lightly instead. “I'll have to take you up on that,” he jokes.

It's not hard, he finds, to interact like a lawyer or with a lawyer. He's learned from multiple watches of Ocean's 11, “Don't say seven words when four will do,” or in the words of Shakespeare himself, “Conversation should be witty without affectation”. Which is what Keonho does well, at least in his personal opinion.

There are a bunch of other unspoken rules too, which Martin—a second year associate—is always lecturing Keonho about.

“Don't look down, it says that you're unconfident.”

“Don't touch your hair, or your face—or anything above your shoulders, really. Shows you're nervous.”

“Don't wear a suit costing less than a hundred. Money equals winning. And clients want to win.”

“Always have the last word, except when it's your boss. You never want to win against your boss.”

Martin is best friends with Juhoon, another second-year associate. They’re the literal definition of opposites, but they’re the firm’s dynamic duo among the fresh batch of lawyers. Martin’s the talker, Juhoon’s the thinker. Anytime there’s a deposition which requires both of them, Juhoon drafts up the questions and Martin’s the one who asks them. They’re an odd pair, and that’s exactly what makes them work.

When Keonho gets back to the office—a thirty floor building in the center of the city—after having lunch with Jay, he’s greeted by the knowing faces of Juhoon and Martin at their cubicles.

“Lunch with one of the managing partners, huh?” Martin asks, leaning back on his chair and swiveling the wheels slightly.

Keonho leans his elbows over Martin's cubicle partition. “Everyone knows that Jay takes an associate to lunch at least once every week.”

“Yeah, so he can assign them to a case,” Juhoon says. His speech comes out slightly warbled as he bites his sandwich. “He takes you out to lunch to gauge whether he should assign it to you or not.”

“What?” Keonho did not know that. He knew the implications of a lunch, that whoever’s taking you has taken a keen interest. What was unknown to him was that those implications extended as far as potential candidates for a case.

“Juhoon’s right, rookie,” Martin agrees. “He took us both out to a steak lunch five months ago. Next day, he came to our desk and said we were assigned to a class-action lawsuit with one of the senior partners.”

“Wait, seriously?”

Which meant Jay's promise wasn't entirely empty.

“Man, that must be exciting! Your first case from a managing partner!” Martin exclaims.

“Yeah…I guess,” Keonho responds, not entirely in the moment. He's still trying to process the fact that tomorrow, he might get assigned his first real deal case.

Keonho has an extra pop in his gait when he walks into the building the next day, scanning his ID into the system. He greets the security guard, presses the floor button for every single person in the elevator, and compliments the secretary on his floor. He even sits down happily at his usually dead-feeling cubicle.

“Someone’s chipper,” Martin notices.

“Hm, I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Keonho smiles back.

Jay usually walks through the associate cubicles around noon. By the time Keonho begins working, it’s 8:30. His knee bounces up and down in anticipation, eyes flitting from his computer and looking at the clock every five minutes. At 9, he gets up to go fill a cup of coffee for himself.

The office kitchen is located at the end of the hallway—the safe haven for all overwhelmed employees. Keonho feels his shoulders relax just by walking into the minimally decorated space and the waft of coffee. He takes the pot from out of the machine and fills the white paper cup, steam rising and coffee aroma emanating. He can feel himself zoning out as he mixes in milk and sugar, stirring and staring into space.

What snaps him out of his reverie is the small clacks of heels echoing from the hall, likely coming towards the kitchen. Soon, the echo dissipates, and he hears the person enter the small kitchen. He turns around.

It’s you.

It hits Keonho that he's never actually talked to you before. Except one time when he was in the copy room and needed help with the printer, which you had helped him with wordlessly. Which he’s not even sure counts. He knows who you are, though. Y/n, star paralegal of Park, Lee, & Jeong. You’re the same age as him, though you’ve been working here longer than he has. You’re well known for helping with big cases like mergers, MDLs, and acquisitions, and even having worked on some with the managing partners.

You offer him a polite smile as you make your way to the counter. Your eyes have a tiredness to them, like anyone in the building would have at nine am in the morning.

“Hi,” you say quietly.

“Hi,” Keonho responds.

A small yawn escapes your mouth while Keonho continues…watching you. Watching as you reach up to the cupboard to grab a coffee cup. Watching as you grab four—yes, four—sugar packets from the little box in the corner. Watching you grab a stirrer and a lid and the carton of milk. There’s something enchanting about you, that makes him unable to look away. Maybe it’s the ease with how you move, the dual professionalism and breeziness you seem to carry at the same time.

“Tired?” He asks. What kind of question is that?

“Nah, just grabbing some coffee because I’m super awake.”

You’re funny too, he thinks.

“How’s the Hybe merger coming along? You’re on that, right?” Keonho redirects the conversation. The Hybe merger has been talk of the town recently, of course he’d know that you were working on it.

You let out a tired exhale. “It’s a lot,” you laugh, without any real laughter behind it. “Stayed here ‘til eleven last night. 10:30 the night before.”

Keonho notices that you’re standing closer now—and though he’d like to think that it’s because you find him interesting, he has the realization that you need coffee to pour into your cup. And he’s standing right in front of the coffee cup. And you’re too polite to ask him to move.

“Well, it’s impressive that—”

“There you are!”

You and Keonho turn your heads toward the doorway at the same time. Martin’s booming voice reverberates through the tiny room, effectively catching both of your attention.

And interrupting, Keonho thinks.

“Keonho, Jay’s looking for you,” Martin peeks his head in even more and sees you. “Sorry to interrupt,” he says more sheepishly.

Keonho turns toward you. You have an unreadable expression—something like curiosity in your eyes.

“I’ll—uh, see you around,” he says, pushing himself off the counter with his palms. He ends his sentence with a small lilt, like he’s asking a question.

“See you,” you nod back.

He walks out of the kitchen and meets Martin at the doorway, who looks at him with a knowing smirk. That's another thing Keonho's picked up as a lawyer. There are a million things said in the unspoken.

“Whatever you're going to say, don't,” Keonho warns.

Martin doesn't respond, retaining his smirk and casually shrugging his shoulders. His laidback nature shows in the way he wears his suit at work. His tie is never fully tightened, and his suit jacket always seems a little too big for his already broad frame.

“So, uh,” Keonho has to redirect from whatever Martin was trying to imply. “You said Jay was looking for me?”

Martin stuffs his hands into his pockets. “What'd I tell you, man? Managing partners always assign you something after they have lunch with you. It's a prophetic thing.”

“Prophetic thing?”

“One thing always follows the other, is what I'm saying.”

“Uh-huh,” Keonho directs his gaze forward. “Gotcha.”

They both turn into the associates’ hallway, an assemblage of grays that make the office a typical corporate place—and spot Jay right away. He's standing with his hands in his pockets, slowly walking up and down the associate cubicles, pacing like he's got nowhere to be.

“Uh—Jay!” Martin calls from the corner.

Jay slowly turns around in his perfectly tailored three piece suit.

“Ah, you retrieved the man of the hour for me. Thank you, Martin,” Jay closes the gap between Keonho and Martin, giving the former a firm handshake and the latter a pat on the back. Martin takes that as his cue to go back to his desk.

There’s a small pause before Jay speaks to Keonho, hands still comfortable in his pockets.

“Walk with me,” he states, prompting Keonho to follow him at his side while walking down the hallway.

There are a million thoughts racing through Keonho’s head. His inner voice drifts from excitement about a new case to nervousness of being addressed by a managing partner to complete dread about what this is at all.

“Keonho,” Jay starts, still looking ahead. “After our lunch yesterday, I wanted to talk to you about something. A case, specifically.”

Keonho nods. Martin was right, after all.

“It’s with a landlord, and a longtime client of ours. Yoonchae and I were discussing, and we both decided it would be beneficial to give it to you.”

Jay looks to Keonho while turning the corner.

“Wow—uh—thank you, Jay,” he bows slightly and almost missteps. “It means a lot.”

“This landlord, Mr. Choi, owns an apartment on 48th. His tenant is suing him for wrongful eviction claiming there’s inhabitable conditions. Mr. Choi came to us because he thinks his tenant is lying to him to get out of the fact that they’re withholding rent. I need you to meet with Mr. Choi in the next week, and please,” Jay stops walking. Faces Keonho fully. “Do not bring this to trial. Housing court is just another nuisance, and the firm doesn’t have time to be spending on it. Understand?”

Keonho can’t stop the small grin that spreads across his face. He holds his hand out in front and takes Jay’s into a handshake, providing that as his answer.

A million things said in the unspoken, he thinks.

“Hey.”

Keonho’s earbuds are plugged in, shuffled on a Radiohead and Justin Bieber playlist. He doesn’t hear the small ‘hey’ initially. He feels a light yet impatient tap on his shoulder, and looks up from where he’s seated, gazing overtop the cubicle partition. It’s you. Again.

“Oh, hey,” He slips an earbud out. “What’s up?”

You don’t answer immediately. You lean one elbow on the partition and look at him intently.

“I just wanted to talk to you about something.”

Holy shit. Was this…what Keonho thought it was? Were you about to make a move? Ask him out? Not that he would mind, no he definitely wouldn’t mind. He couldn’t believe—

You hold up your other arm, which is holding a…coffee pot?

“Something you should know,” your voice gets softer as you lean in closer. “Refill the coffee pot when you finish it.”

You don’t give him time to respond, instead retreating away with the coffee pot in your hand, the sound of your heels echoing as you walk further down the hall. He looks over at Martin in his cubicle, who’s snickering into his hand, clearly having seen the whole thing play out. Keonho purses his lips.

Well, shit. He didn’t even realize he’d finished the coffee pot. And of course you’d know it was him, since he was the last person you talked to before getting your coffee. Keonho gets the sense that you have mixed feelings about him. Why would you, after all, go so out of your way to remind him about the coffee? He didn't peg you as the petty type, yet he couldn't help but feel…something. When you leaned in close and quietly remarked he refill the coffee pot next time, was it strange that he found that…intriguing?

Whatever.

He shakes his head, physically redirecting his attention back to the case at hand. It's 2 pm, a couple hours since Jay assigned him the landlord case—and he spent half of that time trying to find Mr. Choi in the client directory.

From what Keonho can tell so far, the case is pretty convoluted almost entirely by the tenant's outlandish claims. Usually this would be an open-and-shut type of thing, but the tenant has gone and complained to the D.A, and is unfortunately now aware that the apartment can’t be searched without a warrant. A fact Keonho was counting on the tenant not knowing.

And that’s the complicated part. Keonho now has to file an affidavit with the police in order to search the apartment, to check if there are any underlying reasons why the tenant may be withholding his rent. Keonho spends the next hour researching the whole situation. The last date the tenant gave his rent, the tenant’s job and salary, Mr. Choi’s history of renting out the apartment, background information on the attorney the tenant hired.

Keonho pushes his chair away from the table, stretching his arms as the wheels roll a couple inches. He makes a mental checklist while letting out a small yawn.

Call and meet Mr. Choi. Fill out the affidavit and send it in to the courthouse. Search the apartment after aforementioned affidavit is signed. And—

One small problem, Keonho realizes. He doesn't know how to fill out and submit an affidavit to search the apartment. Law school always insinuated that he'd learn that on the job.

Whatever. He can't really worry about that anyway until he meets Mr. Choi formally, otherwise it's hearsay.

Which prompts Keonho to call him from the number in the client directory. He puts on his best corporate voice, intentionally lowering his range. Without stuttering, he manages to request Mr. Choi meet him at the office third floor small conference room to discuss the case and hopefully acquire the facts needed to draft up the affidavit. Mr. Choi speaks sharply, and carries the voice of someone who would be a long-term client of the firm.

The other line cuts off with a brief click. Keonho places the phone down from his own end and lets out another small yawn, stretching his arms once again.

“Hey–” he whisper-shouts across the cubicle to Juhoon. “Juhoon!”

Juhoon acknowledges him with a short hm, without looking in his direction. His smooth and perfectly manicured hands continue typing on his computer.

“I need your help with something.”

“What?”

“Drafting an affidavit,” Keonho says, quieter. There’s no need to make his inexperience known to the whole room.

Juhoon’s pause on the keyboard. He gives Keonho a look akin to a skeptical boss.

“Just go to one of the paralegals.”

“I don’t know any of them!”

“Good opportunity to get to know them, then.”

His nonchalance irks Keonho the slightest bit. The only paralegal Keonho’s learned the name of and talked to is you. And considering the latest coffee pot escapade…that was not the top option he wanted to consider.

“Please, just give me a couple pointers.”

Juhoon’s typing pace doesn’t slow. “Have you even met with your client yet?”

“No…but I—”

“Sorry, man, can’t help.”

Keonho’s eyes narrow, half in annoyance. His lips purse together as he leans back in his chair. He runs a hand through his hair, rubs at one of his eyes. This is really happening, then.

He keeps whispering to himself, it’s for the case. It becomes a mantra as he gets up from his desk, as he walks down the hall, as he politely smiles at people as he walks, as he tries to inconspicuously find you in the paralegal cubicles near the end of the hallway wing. She’s not actually upset with me…right? Was she kidding or actually serious about the coffee thing? His thoughts distract him, and he almost misses your desk. Almost. He recognizes your half pinned-up hair, your blouse from this morning.

Keonho doesn’t realize he’s just standing there, just looking. He doesn’t realize multiple paralegals around you are looking at him, probably in confusion as to why an associate is…standing there.

He snaps out of it when you turn in your chair slightly—and catch his suit and slightly askew tie out of the corner of your eye.

“Uh, y/n,” He addresses, your name sounding foreign yet native with his voice at the same time.

Your eyes narrow with the same curiosity they’ve held before. The others’ heads turn back toward their work as Keonho approaches your desk closer. His eyes scan the various items decorating the desk. A picture of you and another girl in long dresses—presumably your friend or sister. A tiny framed photo of you as a kid, with two pigtails and dressed in the most insane outfit ever. There’s another framed polaroid of you at a beach, with a freeness that makes you look…stunning.

“Ahem,” you clear your throat, interrupting Keonho’s self-guided tour of your desk. “Did you need something?”

He takes a slight inhale. “I have to write a testimony, for one of our clients, and—”

“Let me guess,” a small smile curves on your lips. “You don’t know how to do it.”

“I do, but, you know, perjury is a serious offense…and I don’t want to accidentally perjure our client,” he defends.

You raise an eyebrow in skepticism. “Uh-huh. You’re terrible at lying for a lawyer, you know.”

“Is that a yes?”

“Well, I’m not quite sure what you’re asking. Are you saying…you need my help?”

Keonho fights the urge to roll his eyes. You’re having fun messing with him. He knows that you know he needs your help. You just want him to admit it.

“You know what I’m asking.”

“I really don’t.” your slight smirk is a full on smile now. Your head rests in your palm as you look up at him.

“Just,” he pinches his nose bridge. “Can you help me with drafting an affidavit? I meet with the client tomorrow, and it would be helpful if you…were there.”

“Magic word?”

“...Please?”

You roll your tongue in your cheek and smirk at him once more.

“Of course, Keonho,” you drawl, slightly sarcastic. “Email me the time you’re meeting the client and the details of the case. Okay?”

God, you were going to be the end of him. In a bad way or a good way, he wasn’t sure yet.

“Mr. Choi, it’s understood that you have rented out this apartment for over ten years, correct?”

“Yes.”

Keonho leans his elbows on the conference room chair, letting you take the lead. Out of the both of you, you’re the one who knows what you’re doing.

“How many months has your tenant been withholding his rent?” you ask, ready to type on your laptop.

“Since December. Rent’s due at the beginning of the month, so around two months.”

You nod as your fingers furiously type in the information.

“Have you contacted your tenant since the eviction?”

“I’ve tried, but he hasn’t picked up. The only form of contact I’ve gotten was a lawsuit in the mail for wrongful eviction. Claims that the mold of the apartment made it inhabitable, and that I wasn’t performing my role as landlord as suitably as I should’ve.”

“Do you agree with the tenant’s statement, Mr. Choi?”

“Of course not! I got the ventilation fixed in November, so mold shouldn’t have been a problem.”

Keonho looks at you and back at Mr. Choi. Back to you again. His eyes trace your side profile—the curve of your nose, the slight partition of your lips, the concentration in your eyes.

God, fucking focus, he mentally tells himself.

By 4:30, half an hour after Mr. Choi sat down and began telling his part of the story, you’re done drafting up the details for the affidavit.

“I’m going to email this to both of you,” you say. “Please sign it electronically so we can send it to the courthouse. Got it?”

Mr. Choi nods his head, with a solemnity and gratitude, while Keonho is still staring into space.

“Got it?” you reiterate yourself for Keonho, to snap him out of whatever he’s thinking about. You’re unaware that he’s thinking about you.

“Uh, yeah, got it,” he scrambles a couple papers together for something to do with his hands. You just shake your head and let out a scoff that doesn’t have any real malice behind it.

A quiet settles over the room, as you close your computer and let out a small exhale, while Keonho puts all his files in order.

“Do you two work together often?” Mr. Choi asks, somewhat innocently.

You and Keonho both snap your heads toward him, taking that as a not-so-innocent comment.

“No—” you both say at the same time.

“I just started working with her yesterday.”

Mr. Choi nods his head thoughtfully. “You seem to work very nicely together. Both of you.”

You can feel a slight heat rise to your cheeks. Keonho’s equally as bewildered, but he doesn’t let it show quite as much as you do. There shouldn’t even be that much of a reaction to such a comment, but you and Keonho seems to have gotten the gist of what Mr. Choi really meant.

“We’ll be in touch,” you redirect. You and Keonho stand up and each shake hands with him.

Mr. Choi offers a small smile before heading out of the conference room and down the hall in the direction of the elevator, clearly unaware of the awkward situation he just crafted. You sit back down in your chair with an exhale and place your closed laptop in your lap.

“That was…”

“Interesting?” you offer.

“Something like that,” Keonho agrees.

“Whatever. We got the affidavit, all we need to do is get it signed and then approved by the courthouse so we can search the apartment.”

We. That choice of wording doesn’t go unnoticed by him. You’ve gone from calling it his case to both of yours. It elicits a small feeling of happiness, and he isn’t quite sure why.

“Thank you, again. For, you know, helping.” Keonho rolls his chair a little closer, but keeps his gaze fixed on the clock above the door, to make it seem unintentional.

“You’re welcome, Keonho,” you tell him.

God, his name sounds so perfect on your lips, he thinks.

The conference room stillness goes from an awkward silence to a charged feeling. It’s a late realization that you two are the only ones in this room, and—since it’s on the third floor which is mainly for meeting clients—probably the only people in this wing of the hallway.

“I should,” you whisper in the silence. “I should go. I’ve got the Hybe merger that I’m working on as well.”

He catches the small glint in your eye, a look that says you don’t really want to leave.

Keonho breathes. Every sound feels accentuated in this room. “Right,” he clears his throat. “Right, of course.”

You give him a light smile before walking out of the room. His ears fill with the sound of your heels clicking away through the echo-y halls.

And then he’s left alone with his thoughts—the last thing he wants to be left alone with. What just happened? Is he seriously coming down with a crush on a colleague at work? Normally, he would brush something like this aside. In law school, he always shut down people looking for a relationship. It was in his nature. The unaccounted thing, though, was that none of them ever made him feel…like this.

You make him want to spend more time with you. To disregard the case and zone out daydreaming about you. To never learn how to write an affidavit so he can sit next to you and watch you type.

His thoughts make him clutch his hair and let out a groan.

He feels his phone buzz in his pocket.

Email!

Sent from: y/n l/n

<subject> Full affidavit testimony

standard encryption

4:32 PM

Two days after the meeting in the conference room, Keonho gets a scanned copy of the signed affidavit from the courthouse, which gets processed faster than he thought it would. He’s been unintentionally avoiding you those two days after the meeting. When you were both alone in the conference room.

Which is why he chooses to go to the apartment alone.

He already got the keys to the apartment from the District attorney’s office, and has arranged for Mr. Choi to meet him at the complex. He’s already running fifteen minutes late because he forgot to fill gas the evening before, dropped his card under his banged-up Prius while fumbling with his wallet, and missed the turn to the intersection.

By the time he reaches the apartment building, he’s running full speed ahead with his tie flying behind him as he reaches the sliding doors.

“Mr. Choi,” he greets, breathing heavily. “Apologies for the late delay. Should we get started?”

Mr. Choi eyes him up and down, likely looking at his disheveled hair and half-open briefcase.

“Yes…let’s.”

The elevator rattles its way up the way to the fourth floor of the building—Apartment 402 is what he’s looking for. The thing is, the elevator is awfully slow, and Mr. Choi isn’t exactly known to create the most non-awkward situations.

“You and that girl—the paralegal,” Mr. Choi starts.

Uh oh, Keonho thinks. What’s he gonna say this time?

“You two remind me a lot of me and my wife,” Mr. Choi lets out a chuckle. “Well, when we were younger, of course.”

God, could this elevator go any slower?

“Uh…”

“Ah, what am I saying?” He thankfully saves Keonho from dignifying that statement with a response. The elevator dings and cuts the conversation off entirely. Thank god.

The apartment has the smell of mold. That’s for sure. Mr. Choi scrunches his nose, partially because he cannot believe the apartment would actually result in such a thing. Keonho pulls out his phone to take photos. Of the carpet, where the infestation seems to have started, mainly. He reassures Mr. Choi that they’ll be out of the apartment as soon as he collects enough evidence of the scene itself.

There’s a small feeling in his gut that tells him that the firm’s client, his client might actually be in trouble. All the evidence in the apartment did point to the fact that the conditions made it just to withhold the rent. How in the hell was he supposed to fight off this lawsuit?

Keonho suddenly feels bad about not bringing you to search the apartment with him. You had helped him draft the affidavit after all, and that was at least a basic indication that you should’ve been part of the case.

When he gets back to the office, he hesitates before approaching your desk timidly. You’re not there, probably grabbing a coffee or something. He places the files of the photos from the apartment and the records down on your desk. You’ll know they were from him.

Which you do. When you get back from your impromptu coffee run, you see a stack of papers on your desk. They’re in a blue folder—a sign that they’re probably from Keonho. Everyone knows that the associates get blue folders.

You know you’re not supposed to be looking through the items, simply putting a record summary in with the rest of the files, but you can’t help it.

There’s something off about the files he gave you. The photographs, specifically. If mold had begun in December, as the tenant had claimed, there would be stains. Not smells. The water marks in the photos display a rather new-ish looking mark—as if…someone had recently tainted the carpet.

You quickly dig through the folder, finding info on the tenant’s job. There are things written about the position(an assistant stock trader) and the salary(around 60k a year). But nothing about the state of employment. Which is why you find yourself looking at the tenant’s profile on Linkedin, where the status is set to…Open to Work?

It suddenly all clicks.

Of course the tenant would be withholding rent. Not because of the ‘inhabitable conditions’ as he had previously claimed, but because he was out of work. Keonho had checked if his job paid enough to pay rent, but hadn’t bothered to check if the guy was actually unemployed. Which would explain why the pictures of the mold in the apartment seemed relatively new—it was intentionally planted there as a reason for withholding rent.

You write up a rough demand letter, to avoid lawsuit all together and provide a response as the defendant. You know Keonho’s planning to take this folder back, so you place the letter in the folder. You know he’ll find it. You know he’ll know it was you who wrote it. You know that he’ll know you’re the one who solved it.

You get up from your desk with a small sigh—one of satisfaction from being able to find the cracks in this case. It’s with that same satisfaction that you walk towards the associate cubicles down the hall, files in one hand, sugared-up coffee in the other.

It’s been a few hours since you found the files delivered at your desk, which means Keonho is probably still at the office. He’s not at his desk, though, so you drop them off on the wooden table and wordlessly acknowledge the others as you walk back to your own desk.

Keonho gets back from the bathroom, pleasantly surprised by the blue folder on his desk.

You work quickly, he thinks.

He sits down on the chair and goes through the folder to find the record summary he hopes you’ve drafted up. Instead, he’s surprised by two papers which bear no resemblance to a record summary and look more like…demand letters? He leans in, eyes quickly scanning over the words written on the page.

Holy shit.

“The plaintiff’s suit of wrongful eviction by the defendant Mr. Choi with claims of ‘Inhabitable conditions’ on the terms of withholding rent are found baseless with the conclusion that the mold found in the apartment are evidently new and not found to be from December—the initial date of withholdment. The plaintiff’s status of unemployment demonstrates an inability to pay the rent due to a lacking source of income, rendering the claim of wrongful eviction useless.”

Keonho resists the urge to jump up from his chair, wave his arms around, and squeal in delight.

You solved it. You had actually solved it.

His resolve crumbles slightly when he can’t help but laugh into his palm, which attracts the attention of a couple associates near him. He couldn’t care less.

Keonho gathers the folder in his arms and walks—albeit quickly—-towards Jay’s office, a sprawling room that always intimidates Keonho whenever he walks in there.

The elation slightly dissipates when he realizes he has to approach the managing partner, but nonetheless doesn’t quell the immense happiness he feels. Keonho knocks on the glass door, and waits a few seconds before he hears a clear ‘come in’.

“Jay, uh—”

“Ah, Keonho!” Jay proclaims, as soon as he sees who it is. He stands up from his desk and looks at the files in Keonho’s hands. “Got something for me?”

“Yes, uh, the landlord case,” he takes a couple steps forward. “As promised.”

Jay takes the blue folder from Keonho’s hand. There’s a silence as he reads the front page—the demand letter to avoid the lawsuit.

“We can either send in the demand letter in the folder, or convince the plaintiff to settle.”

“Hm,” Jay acknowledges. He flips through all the files. “What do you think?”

“What?”

“What do you think? Do you suggest we avoid the lawsuit or convince the tenant to settle?” The way Jay asks it, he’s framing it as a test—not an actual question. It was his indirect way of seeing if Keonho could actually close out this case.

“Uh,” Keonho straightens his shoulders. “I suggest we send in the demand letter. If we settle, it will bring the case into the system and could result in housing court. And…you made it very clear you did not want to bring it to trial.”

Jay nods, with the reverence of a master for his student, putting one hand in his pocket and leaning the other on his desk. “Nice job, Keonho. This is…beyond impressive. The fact that you even thought to look for unemployment with the tenant. Good idea. That’s thinking outside the box.”

It’s with that statement that Keonho realizes he should probably have you here too. You were the one who did the thinking outside the box. You were the one who drafted the affidavit that even made it possible to search the apartment. You were the one who discovered the crucial piece of information about the mold. You were the one who made the connection that the mold was recent, and you were the one who tied it all together to avoid a lawsuit altogether.

“Keonho?” Jay snaps him out of his thought process and closes the folder with satisfaction.

“Oh! Uh—thank you sir,” he bows. And mentally slaps himself.

Because he just took the credit for a case that you technically won.

Which is why, when Jay dismisses him from his office, Keonho finds himself looking for you. It's guilt, he tells himself. Nothing else. So when he finds you in the kitchen on what he can guess is at least your third cup of coffee, it makes it that much harder to tell you the truth.

“Oh, Keonho! Did you look at the folder I put back on your desk?”

“Yeah,” He gulps. “About that, I—”

“I'm so glad I went through and looked at the photographs. I knew something wasn't adding up,” you shake your head with a smile. “Anyway, should we go see Jay now? Show off our incredible win?”

“Y/n.”

That catches you off guard. The way he looks serious, solemn almost. How he's saying your name not as a congratulation but as if he's…regretful?

“...yeah?”

“Listen, I,” He runs a hand through his hair. “I went to see Jay already.”

Your smile curves a little less. “Oh, ok. No worries. You told him that I wrote that demand letter, though, right?”

Keonho's eyebrows, always so expressive, curve upward in pity. His eyes tell you all you need to know.

“You…you told him that it was me who figured it out, right? That the plaintiff was lying?" Your smile is completely gone now, lips parted and slightly desperate.

“I—y/n, you have to understand—”

You scoff. “I can't believe you.”

“Y/n, please, I didn't get the chance to—”

“To what?” You cut him off curtly. Sharply. “To admit that it was me who won your case? You couldn't have taken two seconds to tell him that I did all of that?”

“Hey, I didn't ask you to solve it.”

You flinch slightly at how his voice raises. Keonho wishes he can take back everything he just said. Everything he just did.

“I'm sorry, weren't you the one asking me to help you write the testimony? Weren't you the one who wordlessly dropped those files on my desk for the record summ—”

“Because that's your goddamn job!”

And there it is. He can't stop the words from tumbling out of his mouth. He can't stop the way that hurt paints your face. He can't stop the wave of emotion he feels when you shakily exhale and your eyes turn glossy.

“Well,” your voice trembles. “Maybe you should learn how to do yours.”

You don't give him the chance to respond.

A week goes by. Keonho feels terrible and he hasn’t talked to you in days. He’s seen you around, getting coffee or grabbing something from the printer. Even Martin’s noticed, and he’s usually too caught up in his own problems—which means something is definitely wrong.

Jay’s happy with him, though. He gives Keonho a smile whenever he walks past him in the hall. It feels wrong. He’s getting recognition for something he didn’t do.

The morning Keonho arrives at work, a rainy and cold Thursday, the atmosphere feels different. Tired. He sits down at his desk with a large sigh, and opens his inbox to a hell ton of emails. An hour goes by of him doing just that—busy work.

“Keonho,” he hears. He looks up.

It’s Mark. Aka, Mark Lee, another managing partner of Park, Lee, & Jeong. Keonho has never actually spoken with the guy before.

“Oh—hi,” Keonho scrambles up from his desk and immediately bows, taking Mark’s hand in a firm shake.

“Can I see you in my office?” Mark asks. He doesn’t wait for Keonho to respond, walking away before he can say anything.

Mark is probably the most intimidating out of the three managing partners. He’s got chiseled features and makes eye contact like it’s second nature, plus he’s got an extraordinary track record with over 96% of cases won at trial. Keonho can see why.

When he reaches Mark’s office, he has that same dreadful feeling wash over him. Is he in trouble?

“Keonho, please,” Mark gestures to the couch. “Take a seat.”

He does.

“Jay told me about your recent case with Mr. Choi, a client of ours. I was looking over the case,” he nods thoughtfully. “Impressive job.”

Keonho purses his lips into a smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “Thank you.”

“Which then prompted me to look at you, specifically,” Mark says. He grabs a packet from the coffee table in the center and flips a page over. “You have even more impressive stats. A 175 on the LSATS, not one but three letters of recommendation from highly esteemed law professors, you were a national speech and debate comp winner at sixteen. Keonho, this is truly remarkable.”

“Thank you again, Mark.”

“Which is why I’d like to put you on a special case—one that I’ll be supervising but you’ll be working on. It’s a malpractice suit for Mr. Hendery Wong, another previous client of ours. He's suing because a hip replacement surgery went wrong and his left leg is now paralyzed.”

Keonho nods, folding his hands in his lap.

“Do you think you can handle the responsibility?”

“Yes, sir,” Keonho replies. “I can.”

“Good. I’m going to have you work with Ms. L/n, she’s been on a malpractice case before as assistant paralegal—it’ll be good to have someone with experience.”

Keonho freezes. He’s been avoiding you for days—only to be working closely with you again? He’s not even sure you’ll want to see his face, much less talk to him everyday on a high-stakes lawsuit.

“Sounds good,” he croaks.

He’s already counting down the minutes before he’ll see you again. You’ve probably already gotten an email from Mark, and it’s only a matter of time before he’s sitting across from you in a conference room, being briefed on a case he knows you won’t want to work on with him.

“So…we’re working together.”

“Mhm,” you reply, barely acknowledging him, fidgeting with your hands instead.

“Y/n, I know you’re probably angry with me, but—”

You snort. “You’re right about something. For once.”

Keonho’s about to retort when he hears the clearing of Mark’s throat in the door of the conference room. His arm is carrying a thick binder.

“Glad both of you could make it. Should we get started?”

You and Keonho both nod as Mark sits down at the head of the table, opening the binder with a large thud. The meeting takes about an hour and half. Mainly because malpractice cases like these are complicated and multi-layered. Especially this one in particular.

Hendery Wong is a 32 year-old getting a hip-replacement surgery at Central Hospital. After the surgery, performed by Doctor Lee Jeno, he’s left paralyzed in his left leg for an unresolved amount of time. He’s suing for malpractice and personal negligence against the doctor.

At the end of the meeting, Mark tells you both that he’s already called Hendery along with a nurse who was present during the surgery. After he leaves the room, you leave promptly, not even giving Keonho any sort of acknowledgement of working together.

THE NEXT DAY

Hendery and Nurse Kim sit right next to each other. Keonho and you sit across from them. You can feel the slight brush of Keonho’s knee against yours, expensive fabric brushing against your skirt. You try to pay it no mind.

“So,” you clear your throat. “I understand, Mr. Wong, that you’re suing for malpractice, correct?”

“Correct.” Hendery looks a little younger than his age, facial features giving off mid-20s as opposed to his actual age of 32. He’s an engineer, and you can certainly tell by the worn-down look on his face.

“Can you walk me through the procedures before the surgery?”

You can see a little hesitation in his eyes, while Nurse Kim looks over at him. She puts a hand over his and rubs her thumb gently over his knuckles.

“It’s ok, Hendery. Go ahead,” she tells him.

You look at Keonho. He looks at you. You both must be thinking the same thing because your eyes flit to Hendery and Nurse Kim’s conjoined hands and then back at Keonho. You send him a look that says something along the lines of, Are you seeing what I’m seeing?

“Uh—please, go ahead, Mr. Wong. Keonho and I are listening,” you reassure. You try to keep your attention off of the fact that Nurse Kim and Hendery are…awfully close.

“Dr. Lee and I agreed to a hip replacement surgery about two weeks before the actual surgical date. Nurse Kim here was my attending nurse a couple…hours before the surgery. Before I went under, my legs were fine. I could walk properly and everything. When I came out, my left leg was paralyzed, and I was never warned about that risk.”

You nod, tapping your foot on the ground beneath the table.

“So,” Keonho begins. “Are you and Nurse Kim—Ow!”

You stomp his foot under the table. Not the time, idiot. Hendery gives Keonho a worried look but doesn’t act on it.

“Uh, sorry. Did you have a previous condition that could have affected the results of the surgery?” Keonho asks.

Nurse Kim looks down. Odd.

“Yes, nerve palsy. It was on my chart.”

Keonho furrows his brow and pulls Hendery’s medical chart from the files given by Mark. He initially holds them with both his hands before glancing toward you and sliding the paper so you can see it as well. The action doesn’t go unnoticed by you.

“Y/n,” he whispers, bringing his lips close to your ear. You shiver slightly at the warmth and proximity. “Is there nerve palsy on the chart?”

Your eyes scan the paper. There isn’t. You look at him and shake your head no. Something’s up, you both can tell.

You and Keonho talk to Hendery and Nurse Kim for a little longer, the meeting extending about fifteen minutes. When it’s ended, Nurse Kim walks with Hendery out of the room, who takes some time because of his crutches.

Keonho has a barrage of thoughts as he lifts up his hand to ring the doorbell to your apartment. You had given him the address at the end of the meeting with Hendery, albeit hesitantly. But you had also told him you did not want to discuss the case at ‘whatever hellhole of an apartment he lived in’.

He can hear the murmur of footsteps on the other side of the door when he rings the bell. When you open it, he swears he feels his breath catch.

You’re in a hoodie and sweatpants, and your hair is in a bun with multiple strands flying loose—clearly you’ve been working since you got home. And somehow, you look the prettiest Keonho’s ever seen you.

“By all means, stand out here all day,” you roll your eyes at him awkwardly standing outside your door. You open the door a little more before walking back into the living room and letting Keonho shut it when he enters.

Your apartment is very…you. It’s a little messy, there are papers scattered across almost all the tabletops of the living room and kitchen, along with tons of pictures pinned on the walls. He cracks a small smile.

“Sit,” you say from your living room couch. God, you look beautiful in the dim lighting and your messy bun and your hoodie and—

“Right. Yeah,” he slides off his shoes and makes his way over to the couch, dropping his bag down on the floor.

“You saw it too, right?” you ask him as he sits on the couch.

“Saw what?”

“Nurse Kim and Hendery. Do you think they’re…seeing each other?”

“You think they were holding hands for fun?” Keonho pokes fun. The joke clearly doesn’t reach. “Are you…still mad at me?”

You breathe through your nose and focus your attention on one of the files. Keonho takes that as a yes on your part.

“If you are—”

“You know what your problem is?” Your voice is loud and definitive. “You feel this—this need to prove what a good lawyer you are.”

“Excuse me?”

“Yeah, I know about all your previous cases—which, by the way, I can count on one hand. You, for some reason, want to prove that you can be a good lawyer.”

Keonho scoffs. “You’re being ridiculous.”

“I’m right and you know it. Why else would you take the credit for the case that I won?”

“Hey, that’s not fair,” Keonho can feel his own voice making a crescendo. “Jay assigned that case to me. I had to show him I could handle it.”

“Exactly.”

“No! It’s different, it’s completely different,” he defends.

“It’s not,” you get softer. “Keonho, I don’t know why you think you do, but you don’t have to prove anything to anyone. I get it, believe me. I’ve worked with lawyers who constantly underestimate my abilities. The only person you have to prove something to is yourself.”

He notices that through this argument, you’ve moved closer. Your knees are spaces away from touching his. Keonho desperately wants to pull you close, and tell you he’s sorry. Sorry for everything. He wants to laugh with you and admire you and talk to you.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers. His hand reaches out and puts itself atop yours. He can feel you physically stiffen and thinks to pull away, but he doesn’t.

“It’s ok,” you whisper.

Keonho scoots closer on the couch, close enough that now, your knees are touching—faces inches apart. If he wanted to kiss you right now, he really could. He could just lean in and you’d be…there.

“Can I…”

Your eyes bear into his as he trails off. Your faintly aware of his hand still on yours, and you tighten your grip. As if reading his mind, which you’ve probably gotten good at from working at a law firm, you lean in—

—and share the faintest brush of a kiss.

TRIAL DAY

“Please rise for the Honorable Judge Yang.”

The three people at your bench stand up—you, Keonho, and Hendery. You’ve been in court before, you’ve sat through hundreds of court proceedings. So why does this feel so much more nerve-racking?

“You may be seated.”

Keonho stands up first, as the general rules dictate for the plaintiff.

“Your honor, my client was a victim of the negligence of Dr. Lee Jeno when undergoing a hip replacement surgery. The risk of paralysis was never relayed to my client, and therefore warrants the lawsuit of ten million dollars for malpractice.”

You can’t help but admire Keonho in what seems to be his natural state—the courtroom, and all the responsibilities that come with it.

The defendant’s attorney, Soyeon, stands up with the same confidence, adjusting the buttons of her suit jacket.

“Your honor, the risk of paralysis was never relayed because the plaintiff’s condition of nerve palsy was never on the chart. I’d like to call Nurse Kim to the witness stand to testify.”

Keonho and you exchange a glance. It’s okay. You prepared for this possibility.

Nurse Kim is visibly nervous when she takes to the stand and says her oath as a witness. She sits down as Soyeon begins asking questions. Things like, how long have you been working and other details about the case.

“Were you in a secret relationship with Mr. Wong?”

Nurse Kim’s eyes go wide. She immediately looks to Hendery, who shares the same shock—to a lesser extent.

“I…”

“I’d like to remind you that you are under oath. Perjury is a serious criminal offense, Ms. Kim.”

Nurse Kim looks down at her hands on her lap. “I—we—were.”

You can hear the small waves of gasps throughout the room, including the jury.

“Had Mr. Wong ever told you about his nerve palsy before the surgery? Has there ever been a time you two were alone together and he might’ve told you? And if he did tell you, did you purposely withhold information so that your relationship with your own patient would not be exposed?”

“Objection, your Honor! Speculative,” Keonho proclaims.

“Overruled. Please continue, counselor.”

Soyeon sends an arrogant look in Keonho’s direction before proceeding.

“Nurse Kim?” She prompts.

The nurse keeps her gaze fixated on Hendery, who is beginning to piece together the fact that his love might have not told the full truth. That when the moment mattered most, his love chose not to say anything about the existing condition that would have caused his paralysis.

“Yes!” she cries. “I loved him and there was only a one percent chance he would have suffered a paralysis like that!”

Keonho groans into his hand. He can come up with a defense for it. He has to.

“Your Honor,” he says standing up. “Nurse Kim is indicating that Mr. Wong did in fact tell her about the nerve palsy. She is a licensed professional, meaning that if was given medical information and did nothing to act upon it, she’s due for personal negligence. And since she is an associated nurse to Dr. Lee…” he looks at you. You give him a smile and encourage him to keep going. “...Then the doctor is, by law, guilty of malpractice.”

You’re proud of him. Hendery, who’s beside you, is distraught of course—he’s on the verge of winning the lawsuit, but Nurse Kim will likely serve time along with Dr. Lee. There’s no doubt that he’d be upset.

“Thank you, counselor,” Judge Yang concludes with a bang of his gavel. “We will take a twenty minute break, where the jury will discuss the case. We’ll reconvene at noon.”

Keonho sits back down, and finds your hand under the table.

“Nice job, counselor,” you say under your breath.

When you, Keonho, and Hendery leave the building, you can’t help but jump and hug Keonho tightly.

“We won! I can’t believe we won, Keonho!”

He drops his briefcase to the ground, and wraps both arms around your waist, hugging you back just as tightly. He hears a laugh spill as he spins you around—and swears that it’s the most beautiful sound he’s ever heard.

“Um—” Hendery’s voice interrupts the moment. “—I’d like to thank you both. I can’t even begin to tell you how grateful I am.” He winces as he shifts his weight onto one crutch.

“Sir, there’s nothing to say. We’re just doing our job,” Keonho replies.

We. He said we, you think. Our job. That one word alone makes your heart do little jumps. The idea that Keonho thought of this case as more than a paralegal and a lawyer. He said we.

“Anyway,” Hendery lets out a sigh. “I better go call a cab.”

“Of course, of course,” you usher him towards the edge of the sidewalk.

Keonho watches with an almost lovesick expression as you say goodbye to Hendery, your kind nature on full display.

“Y/n,” he catches your attention as you turn back around, walking toward him, Hendery now waving his hand in his crutches for a taxi. Keonho’s slightly distracted by the way the wind breezes through your hair. “About that night…in your apartment…”

You're silently thankful Keonho’s the one who brings that up instead of you. “Yeah?”

“I liked it,” he confesses. “I really, really liked it. And I really, really like you.”

“Keonho—”

“And I know I fucked things up and I was a complete idiot. I know I probably don’t deserve you, because you’re—well—you, but—”

You cut off his absolutely incessant rambling with a kiss to his lips, pulling him by his black and blue tie. Keonho’s eyes widen slightly, taken aback by your bold action. He quickly adapts, though, and doesn’t miss a beat. His arm tightens around your waist while your hands curl into his suit jacket and tie.

So this is what it feels like to win a case, he thinks.

ONE MONTH LATER

You are absolutely drop-dead gorgeous. That’s the first and only thing that goes through Keonho’s mind when he sees you at the company dinner. You’re wearing a long, black dress with a shimmering gold necklace and hoop earrings, and your hair is half pinned up with a couple strands falling down. Like he said, drop-dead gorgeous.

“Hi,” you say, almost shyly, as you approach him in his suit—probably the most expensive thing he’s ever worn. “You look nice.”

Keonho slides an arm around your velvet-clad waist and brings you closer, almost causing you to misstep in your heels. “You look…absolutely stunning, y/n.”

You tilt your head down and smile, holding back a laugh. There are tons of people around, co-workers scattered throughout the hall. Otherwise, he would pull you into his arms and kiss you. He has half the mind to do that, actually.

“I would offer you some champagne, but,” he leans closer, so his lips are brushing your ear. “It’s kind of awful.”

You snicker and turn your head. Your lips are centimeters away from his. “How gentleman-ly of you,” you tease.

He guides you by the small of your back towards a small corner tucked on the outskirts of the hall, hidden by the turn you have to make to get there. Keonho catches the glances he gets from such close proximity with you—a lawyer and a paralegal both definitely too close to be acquaintances. He gets a wink from Martin, and rolls his eyes. He pays no attention as he brings you to around the corner, a little hideout of privacy beyond the tons of lawyers in the hall.

“Couldn’t wait, huh?”

He wraps both arms around your waist, pulling you even closer. “Nope,” he says, pressing a swift kiss to your cheek. “You look beautiful tonight.”

“You mentioned that,” you reply as a sarcastic remark, wrapping both hands around his neck.

Keonho slowly but surely leans in, and you close the distance to meet him halfway. Your eyes flutter shut as you indulge in this kiss, of which you can taste the sweet remnants of champagne on his lips. He tilts his head and pulls you even closer by your waist while your hand slides from the nape of his neck to his cheek.

You can hear the 2000s music playing from the hall, some spotify playlist definitely made by some bored associate—full of Madonna, Sade, and Gwen Stefani. A remix of “Luxurious” as Keonho continues to hold you close and tight in his arms.

In champagne kisses, hold me in your lap of luxury

How fitting, as the taste of sweet champagne continues to fill your senses.

Working so hard every night and day

And now we get the pay back

“Surprised you’re not talking my ear off about litigation,” Keonho whispers against your lips.

“Oh, should I?” you smile. “I can tell you all about capital offenses. Or indictments by grand jury. Would you like that?”

“Very much.”

It’s then that Keonho realizes this is his very own binding contract—fiduciary duty that meant sharing every burden of yours. The case he won with you by his side, the trial where he stood next to you,

Love really was “the keeping of the law.”

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